


The Prey

by secretly_a_hamster



Category: Dead Kennedys, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Dead Kennedys - Freeform, Gen, Implied Violence, No pairings really, ambiguous ending, but come on, heh, prostitution (vaguely mentioned), songficish, though I suppose you could say John/Moriarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:48:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretly_a_hamster/pseuds/secretly_a_hamster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John shouldn'tve gone drinking 'round that side of town...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prey

**Author's Note:**

> Moriarty's dialogue is basically paraphrased from the Dead Kennedys song 'the Prey'.  
> Give it a listen!

Beer. Is good.   
Beer is especially good when one has just been ridiculed by two hundred post-grad students at a medical convention that you run. To be fair, John hadn't meant to say that Viagra should be available free on the NHS. What a shame it was that to Americans 'NHS' sounded like some kind of pornographic online shop.  
Anyway. Beer. Good. Idiotic American students. Bad. John was a bit worried; alcohol dependency ran in the family, but he barely drank normally so he might as well get sloshed tonight. Perhaps the should try a cocktail? Ooh. Adventurous.  
"You're from out of town."   
The rather attractive young man from across the bar had leaned over and was whispering in John's ear.  
"Excuse me," said John loudly, spilling beer down his trousers.   
"I can tell that by your shoes. Flew in for the convention, getting tipsy in a bar." This man's breath was tickling his ear.  
John was frankly a little creeped out. He got up drunkly and made to leave, but the man followed.  
"You're leaving pretty late, gotta get up in the morning! Thinking Irene's just too expensive," A woman in the corner was indicated, one whom John may or may not've been checking out, one who, on closer inspection, seemed to be a hooker, and he blushed. Wait, this guy was on first-name terms with prostitutes?  
"And you know," The stranger continued conversationally, "You're probably: right!"  
John had had enough. This bloke was clearly insane; he wanted nothing more to do with him. "Look, that was...amazing. You're a genius. But, um, I don't know you. So, please, I need to get back to my hotel."  
John put his half-empty pint back on the counter, sticks a ten-dollar note down on the counter and grabs his bag. He hopes the weirdo gets the hint, he only has two days left in New York anyway before it's back to Baker Street. He wants to visit Times Square, not spend time with a sociopath.   
The last thing he expects is the goofy smile on the guy's face. "People don't usually say that."  
"What do they say then?" John asks before he realises what he's doing. He then makes an abrupt u-turn. "Sorry, look, I don't know you, I don't even know your name..." He says before pushing past the stranger to leave.  
"They usually say 'please don't kill me' and my name's Moriarty, John." He pauses. "I generally do kill them though," Moriarty adds, almost as an afterthought.  
John just wants to forget this madman; curiosity gives way to irritation: "Look Moriarty, if that's even your real name, I'm tired, okay? I want to go back to my hotel. How do you even know my name? No, don't answer that. Just...let me go."  
Moriarty's face fell. When he looked at John, the maniac glint was back in his eyes. He moved around to block John's exit.  
"Oh, John, John, there's no-one on the streets, and you can't find your hotel! You walk a little faster - I'm following you." Moriarty reaches out and grabs John's shoulder. John squirms, but he can't break free. "The wallet-sized bulge in your double-knit butt will have money for me. And maybe credit cards." Moriarty raises his eyebrows in what is the most lewd gesture John has ever seen. "You dart around the next corner - don't look around - quick now dear fumble for the keys to the door! You don't even know where you are..."  
John's getting scared now. Sweat breaks out on his forehead; Moriarty smiles.  
"You walk a little faster; I walk a little faster! Sensing that I sense you, now there's no escape.  
"I can almost taste your dandruff, as I reach out for your face. And I strike!"


End file.
